


Rag Doll

by Kairosclerosis



Series: Burning Hearts [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Arsonist, Beating, Blindfolds, Comfort, Hair-pulling, Hospitals, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Boss, Non consensual blindfolds, Non-Consensual Bondage, Semi-Public Humiliation, Torture, Whipping, Whips, Whump, beatings, boys crying, mafia, non-consensual whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:41:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11657118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairosclerosis/pseuds/Kairosclerosis
Summary: Sam is kidnapped by a rival gang.





	Rag Doll

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after the second installment of Burning Hearts. Please be warned: there's semi-graphic violence and torture scenes throughout this piece. 
> 
> This doesn't have to be read to enjoy the Burning Hearts series, and the Burning Hearts series doesn't have to be read to enjoy this piece (although it probably would make more sense if you read that before this.) 
> 
> Enjoy!

"Soy latte and a caramel frappuccino," Sam said lazily, staring down at his phone as he ordered coffee for him and his boyfriend. Charles and his dumb sugary drinks--you'd really think, as a mafia boss, he'd be less into dextrose. Especially since he was always on the arsonists ass about being more healthy. 

Well, he supposed he deserved that, after he'd spent almost a year basically only eating fast food. But still, it was a bit hypocritical. 

It took forever to get the drinks, per usual, but after a bit Sam was leaving Starbucks with four coffees in one of those little containers. Hey, he had to get something for Alex and John. They always got stuff for them (Alex especially knew that Sam liked the little English muffin breakfast sandwiches, and sometimes he'd find them on his dining room table the morning before a particularly difficult assignment). 

It was really nice out, actually, a surprisingly sunny morning for the city. Sam ran his free hand through his hair, which was getting rather floppy, and held it out for a cab. 

A blue car pulled up and Sam took a step back, looking it over. Had taxis changed their style? It did say taxi on the side, but... something seemed a little off. 

"You gunna get in?" the driver asked, rolling down the passenger side window and giving Sam a skeptical look. 

"You know, I actually think that I'm going to walk," he said, friendly enough, and then froze as he felt something very hard being pressed into the small of his back. 

"You're gunna get in," the taxi driver said, a smirk flitting across his face as his gaze morphed into something more predatory. 

Sam got in. 

~•~

He didn't even know what gang they were. 

That was the first thought that flitted through Sam's mind when he came to, the back of his head throbbing with every shaky breath that he drew in. His eyes fluttered open lazily and he stared up at the grey ceiling, tugging at his wrists even though he knew they were duck taped behind him. He half-heartedly kicked out, too, even though his ankles were securely taped to the chair he was secured to. 

He didn't know what gang they were, so how important could they be?

"The bitch has woken up," a cruel voice jeered behind him, and Sam let out a groan as his head was pulled back violently, a hand fisted in the roots of his hair. The chair was pulled back to balance on its two back legs, solely being supported by the henchman enthusiastically twisting Sam's hair. Laughs echoed around the room and the arsonist idly wondered how many people were here. 

He didn't know what gang they were, so how dangerous could they be?

The man threw him to the ground, letting him bounce against the cold cement until the chair came to rest, Sam's head hitting the ground with a sickening crack. He kept his mouth shut, grateful that from this vantage point he could at least see around the room. There were at least five, on the half of the room that he was facing at least. There was also a man fiddling with a camera, which made Sam feel slightly nauseous. 

He didn't know what gang they were, so why would they want anything with him?

They picked him up off the ground and got started with the standard stuff--punching him across the face, in the stomach, videotaping the whole time. It was to send to Charles, and Sam knew that, so he managed to keep his mouth shut even when he felt his lip split and his eye start to swell up. Even when his nose started to bleed. It got harder to keep his mouth closed when they started with the unconventional stuff, though.

He couldn't help but start cursing at them when they grabbed him by the back of the neck and grabbed an electric razor, assuming it would be raked across his skin. It wasn't, though, they--they shaved his fucking head. 

It was all about humiliation, and Sam knew that, but he still threatened to kill them through gritted teeth as they laughed and taunted him. He loved his hair, loved Charlie's hands in it, loved brushing it. He also knew that they were sending this footage to the mafia boss, so he tried to stay strong, sitting still as they ran their dirty hands all over his shoulders and his back. 

He started hissing obscenities again when they unbuttoned his shirt, and only really started trembling when they wrapped it around his eyes, blocking out his sight. 

He had to be able to see. 

It was so much worse when pain blossomed across his chest unexpectedly, flashing in a long line from his collarbone to his stomach. He cried out for real, hating how vulnerable his own voice sounded in the warehouse. He hated the cackling it inspired, hated how only one hit could bring him down so low. Just--whipping wasn't really his thing. It was worse than burning, worse than taunting, worse than blunt force. He couldn't really explain why, it just was the worst. 

After an hour of that, he was a mess. 

Every time another hand touched him he flinched away, cried out in fear of another lash. He could feel blood dripping down his chest. All he wanted to do was to be with his Charles. This was all still so goddamn confusing. They hadn't asked him for information on the mafia, or anything typical of this situation. They just seemed to want to hurt him, over and over and over. 

 

It would've been so much better just to have a reason why. 

~•~

Charles was going absolutely insane. 

Alex kept telling him to calm down, that they were tracing the video links, that from what they'd seen nothing serious had happened to Sam. 

Yeah, sure. Nothing at all. Nothing except being beaten, humiliated, and tortured. 

He was being so strong too, Charles' brave darling. Sam was obviously trying so hard, not saying anything at the beginning of the video. But by the end he was shaking and crying, terrified. 

Charles was ready to murder someone. 

He was going to murder every single man that had been in that room, laughing at Sam's pain. The ones that had been inflicting said pain were going to die slowly. As slowly as possible. 

He had tried to storm out of the room they were keeping him in at least three times now, but unfortunately his own employees were too smart for him. Even when he'd started screaming, they'd made him stay put, Alex calmly assuring him that they were within hours of finding Sam. 

Hours was too long.

~•~

Sam was on the floor once again, the camera mercifully turned off. They were kicking him back and forth like some sort of rag doll, and all he could do was lay there and take it. His lips were too bloody to even ask for mercy, which was good because it would've been embarrassing if he'd started begging at this point. At least they'd taken off the blindfold. 

"Little bitch," one of them snarled, picking Sam up off the ground. He dangled in the man's arms, no strength left to hold himself up, much less fight against them. "Why the fuck are you so important anyways? Lee is too smart to let himself be obviously besotted with you like this. Are you just some whore to throw us off the scent of who he really loves? I know he doesn't consider us a threat, but..."

Sam hit the wall with a crunch, the man throwing him as hard as he could.

"He should now," he laughed. 

Sam couldn't help but chuckle as he crumpled to the ground, hands clutching at the temporarily stabilizing concrete. 

"You're laughing?" They were obviously pretty pissed who that, and Sam earned himself a kick to the neck, which really fucking hurt. 

"You-" he had to clear his throat, voice pretty shaky. "You should be scared. Dumbasses. He's going to come here and take you all apart, piece by fucking piece."

It was the last thing he had the chance to say for a long, long time. Apart from crying and groans, of course. 

~•~

It had been a whole fucking day, and Alex still wouldn't let Charles just march in there and shoot the bastards. They had been sending pictures, which were almost worse than the videos. In one Sam was smiling wryly, even through the blood, and it broke Charles' heart a little bit. He was fucking frantic. 

At least they knew where they were keeping him now. They were staking out the building, and it was just a matter of time before they could storm the fucking place. 

Which was currently what Charles was screaming at Alex to do. 

~•~

Their dirty hands were all over him, and Sam was thrashing on the ground, teeth bared. The punches were raining down again, along with kicks and pinches and everything else they could think of. 

How long could he take this?

Not much longer. 

His eyes shut slowly and he dropped his head to the floor, giving up trying to make them stop. It was useless. 

And then the doors burst open and his people streamed in. 

Bullets rained throughout the room, above Sam, and he just rested his head on the floor and shut his eyes. 

It didn't take long for other bodies to join him on the ground, and once silence filled the room Sam blearily looked up to see Alex. "Charles," he croaked, and in one swift move Hamilton was cutting his hands and ankles free, then lifting him from the ground, into his arms, and carrying him out of the building. 

He was speaking to Sam softly, reassuringly, but the man could hardly pick out any words. When they emerged into the light he blinked and shied away, and then his Charlie was there, taking him from Alex gently, gathering him into his arms. 

"'M fine," Sam tried to mumble, and Charles silenced him with the gentlest kiss, eyes wet and full of relief. "Seriously," he said, and then the world started to swim before his eyes and he realized that wasn't strictly true. 

~•~

He woke up in a hospital bed with a nurse bandaging his ribs and sat up, wildly saying "get off, don't touch me," trying to swat the woman away. She shrieked, but then there were cool hands on his shoulders, easing him down into the bed, and he looked up into Charles' eyes and quickly calmed himself down. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, and Charles smiled down at him, lips gently brushing across his forehead. 

"Are the meds working?" his boyfriend fussed over him, hands lightly touching his head, his cheeks, his chest and shoulders. 

Sam sighed and grinned up at him, nodding. "You know, I'm not exactly a China doll or something. I'm fine."

"The last time you said that you passed out in my arms," Charles pointed out, and Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes. 

"Sir?" A doctor said, standing in the door. "May I speak to you, alone?"

Charles glanced up and shook his head, eyes narrowing as a hand curled around Sam's protectively. "Anything you say can be said to both of us."

Well, it turned out Sam wasn't really fine. He had a mild concussion, two broken ribs, countless scrapes and bruises, lacerations across his chest and stomach, and a broken nose. Quite the look, really. (He personally thought the worst injury was his shaved head). Thank god they had him on enough pain medication to stun a bull. He fucking hated hospitals, so it took two happy meals and the promise that Charles could stay with him for as long as he wanted to get him to stay the night. 

He didn't sleep, just stared up at the dark ceiling, trying not to think about the cement floor, or the words the men had sneered at him. One particular comment kept ringing in his ears, and it was that that spurred him to get out of bed at two am and stagger his way to the door, ripping his IV out of his arm as he did so. 

Sam barely made it two steps into the hallway before he was being scooped up and brought back to bed, Charles ignoring his thrashing protests. Damn. He supposed a mafia boss would have to be a light sleeper. "What the hell are you trying to do to me?" the taller man murmured as he set Sam down, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose. 

Of course Sam burst into tears. 

"I'm not worth it," he sobbed, "you're going to keep getting hurt because everyone knows I'm your weakness, and--"

Charles huffed and clambered into bed with Sam, wrapping himself around the boy, all gangly limbs and basic comfort. "You're thinking about me being hurt right now?" His voice was a strained mix of frustration and relief, a tone that Sam was all too familiar with. "Go to bed, darling. You're worth the world to me, alright?"

Sam's sobs eventually turned into sniffles, muffled against Charles' chest, and he fell asleep nestled into the other man, feeling something he hadn't felt since that blue taxi had pulled up yesterday. 

He felt safe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all liked this. If you want to see more of this AU, or liked this piece, comment below! Comments/kudos are my writing fuel ;)


End file.
